“Sounds like it couldn’t have been Cecelia,” I said. “But Walter told me he was in a practice room during the time when Paolo was killed. Either he forgot to mention answering the door, or he was lying to me.”
Neto frowned. “That’s suspicious.” He led me to a glass-encased room at the edge of the rink.
“This looks like the penalty box,” I said. “Did I violate a rule?”
He laughed. “No, but I kept imagining you here with me as I sat in the box, so I thought I should make it a reality.”
A flush ran up my neck and heated my cheeks. I sat next to him on the bench, close enough for our thighs and shoulders to touch. We passed boxes between us, filling the air with the aroma of turmeric, saffron, and coriander.
“I’ll get in touch with Walter tomorrow,” I said.
We both reached for the same piece of naan and heat tipped through my veins as his fingers brushed mine. I laughed nervously and took a different piece. Something about this man made me giddy. Possibly his stormy eyes as he said, “I’d like to be with you when you talk to them. I know you can take careof yourself, but I don’t like the idea of you questioning potential murderers alone.”
My mother was protective, as was myabuelo, but Neto’s protectiveness made my breath catch, so I asked a question, clinging to conversation like a lifeline. “How does a serious musician get involved in hockey?”
He gingerly rested his palm against his jaw, right over the bruise. “I don’t know if I was a broody musical kid who needed hockey as a physical outlet, or if I was a rowdy hockey kid who turned to music to help ground me. Maybe a bit of both; you’d have to ask my mom.” He stilled, and took a breath before saying, “I’d love to introduce you to my family.”
This was not how tonight was supposed to go. I was supposed to see Ernesto and realize that I had been dazzled by my crush but that we didn’t actually have very much in common. It was supposed to be easy to check the fulfillment of a massive wish off of my list and move on with my life, making my mother proud and never causing any trouble for the monarchy. Instead, I found myself saying, “I would love that. Tell me about them.”
So we ate our fill of curry while Neto told stories about his sisters Ximena, Carmen, Vanessa, and Soveida that had me laughing so hard I had to wipe tears from my eyes. I wanted to know these girls. I wanted to know everything that was important to Neto. I wasn’t under any delusions that this thing between us would last, that he would be interested in anything serious with me. But while we were working together, I was going to enjoy every moment of my time with him.
He reached for another box, and I spied black ink peeking out from under his sleeve.
“Wait, do you have a tattoo?” I asked.
He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a curling script around his biceps.
“What does it say?” I asked.
“It’s the names of the members of my family. Well, my family of origin.” He grazed his hand along his other arm. “The other side is still open for now, but it will be for my wife and kids someday.”
I didn’t dare meet his eyes.
“I’d love a tattoo,” I said. “But my mother would never allow it.”
I was grateful he didn’t tell me that was crazy, that I should do what I wanted. He just nodded, his face clear of judgment.
When we finished eating, Neto gathered up the leftovers and stored them in the fridge in the locker room. “Do you want to skate?” he asked when he came back.
“I’d love to, if you’re up for it. But I thought I heard you say something back there about ‘leaving it all on the ice.’”
He grinned. “That was before I refueled. I’d love to skate with you.”
I tied on my skates, making sure to cinch them tight enough around my ankles. It had been ages since I’d last skated, but thankfully, as I stepped out onto the ice, the lessons I’d taken as a child kicked in and I didn’t make a fool of myself.
The scrape of our blades against the ice was peaceful, and it would have been enough to calm me into a deep relaxation if it weren’t for the reaction my heart had to Neto’s nearness. Especially when his warm fingers brushed against mine and he took my hand. My fingers curled around his.
We spent an hour skating together, playing a game where he would do a trick and I’d have to replicate it plus add a move of my own. Then he’d do the previous moves and add another. We played until the chain was thirty tricks long and we were both laughing so hard our stomachs ached. “You’re a fantastic skater,” Neto said, “I concede defeat.”
I tried to curtsy but my skate caught an edge, and I would have gone crashing onto the ice had Neto not caught me around thewaist. When I was stable, he started to move his hands away, but I covered them with mine. Our eyes locked and my fingers finally wound their way into his slightly damp curls.
Neto’s voice was low as he asked, “Do you want to put on some music? The arena has an amazing sound system.”
I started. “Oh my gosh, the sound system. There’s someone else who was at the rehearsal hall that day—our sound guy, DeShawn. He left, but he has a key to the building and could have easily circled back and killed Paolo while we were all practicing.”
“Do you think he might have wanted Paolo dead?”
“I don’t think DeShawn would hurt someone. But he and Paolo were fighting at the beginning of rehearsal.”
